#why are the default ringtone and notification sound so loud | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shoutosteakettle · 4 years ago

Text

⤷ pairing: natsuo todoroki x fem!rreader

⤷ genre: slight angst, fluff

⤷ word count: 2418

⤷ warnings: maybe ooc natsuo

⤷ a/n: i am so fucking excited to post this fic because it is my first fic for a server collab!! check out the rest of the fics for the collab here, everyone on the list is such a talented writer and i know that they put a lot of effort into their fics. and as always, thank you @ererokii for the beautiful banner for this fic,, i love you aims

☆彡

You have memories from one year ago today!

You looked at the notification on your phone, trying your best not to let the tears biting at the corner of your eyes spill out onto your cheeks. Even though you know you shouldn’t have, you opened the app; your eyes immediately darted towards the face of your ex. It had only been a couple weeks since he parted ways with you, but you had already forgotten just how handsome he was, and just how happy you used to be.

“Fuck!”

Your pained yelp was loud enough to startle the elderly couple sitting on the bench in front of you. You got up, brushed the dirt off your skirt, and sent a bow to them as a quick sorry for your vulgar language. When you straightened your back to stand up, your shoulders still slightly hunched, you looked in front of you, losing sight of why you had come here in the first place – not sure you ever really had a reason.

It was hard to keep track of your thoughts when you were overwhelmed by the amazingly beautiful scenery in front of you. The warm colors of the wilting leaves on the autumn trees paired almost perfectly with the fairy lights strung from them, lighting the path of food stands, game booths, and street performers as if it was art taken from the pages of a fairytale book.

As you trailed the path you had many times before, though you were usually accompanied by the person you thought you would love you forever, you let the nostalgia wash over you, almost completely forgetting about the stabbing pain in your right ankle for a minute or two. But you were brought back to your less than desirable reality when you found your face buried in the broad chest of a stranger. You limped backward, fully ready to apologize profusely to the stranger, but your breath hitched, and you couldn’t find the words to do so when you caught sight of his face.

The first thing you noticed was the definition in his jaw, the bones shaped as if was done by the gods themselves. Your eyes took note of just how clear his skin was, absent of even the slightest imperfections (despite being a full-time college student). In all your awe, you hadn’t noticed that his eyes were tracing your face in the exact same way. Taking in everything from the volume of your hair to the shape of your nose. It wasn’t until your eyes met his did you finally say something, “I- I’m so sorry, I must not have been paying attention.” You sent him a curt bow before standing back up and continuing on your limped journey for the infirmary.

But you stopped your steps once again when the white-haired male that you had run into placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay,” he asked, gently turning you around, noticing the way you were trying to avoid putting pressure on your right foot.

“Yeah, I just- I think I sprained my ankle,” you told him, not even bothering to hold back the pained expression on your face anymore.

“Oh? That’s perfect- this is the nurses’ booth,” he said, pointing to the sign hanging from the hem of the tent.

“So, what happened,” he asked, rummaging behind his desk, most likely looking for what he would need to get you patched up.

You cringed at the memory as it replayed in your head in response to his question. “I was, uh, distracted on my phone and ended up missing a step going down the stairs, I took a little tumble, and here we are,” you explained, still mortified by the whole ordeal, but smiling to yourself about the way he chuckled at your last comment.

You watched him rise from his squatted position, ice and bandages in hand, before striding over to the cot you had situated yourself on. He sat down his supplies on the table next to you, making small talk as he rolled over the stool from his desk to the foot of your cot. “May I,” he asked his hands hovering above your right foot. Understanding he needed to take off your pump to help you out, you gave him a shy nod.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of the chipped nail polish on your toes. You meant to get them done; you just hadn’t gotten around to it yet, what with all the self-loathing. You jumped at the feeling of his hands on your skin.

“Cold right,” he laughed, looking up to send you a quick smile, “I get it from my mom.” His smile looked sad, like there was a lot more emotion behind it then he was letting on.

“So why are you here instead of enjoying the festival,” you asked him. He looked pretty young, around your age, so it was hard to believe he was actually a nurse.

“I’m actually in Uni, my first year. I’m majoring in health and welfare; extra credit for one of my classes was tending to the booth,” he explained, not looking at you, but rather focused on examining your ankle. You didn’t mind though; he had the most beautiful side profile and was truly a joy to look at. Everything from the lack of color in his hair and how it framed his face perfectly, to the length of his eyelashes and how they [make blinking sexy]. He went to ask you a question in return but was cut off when you let out a sharp hiss in return to his fingers pressing a little too hard on your ankle.

“Yeah, it’s definitely sprained,” he confirmed, looking up to see your face completely drained of little positivity it had before. “Don’t worry babes, this is what we’re gonna do.” You watched with glossy eyes as he rolled over to pick up the ice pack sitting on the table next to you before rolling back over to take another look at your ankle.

“We’ll use ice to help with the swelling and hopefully some of the pain, yeah,” he said very matter of factly despite the questioning tone of his voice. He looked up to you once again, waiting for a sign of confirmation that you were following him, so you sent him another shy nod. “We’ll do this for around 15 minutes. What time is now?”

You grabbed your phone from on top of the table next to you, tapping the screen and seeing the numbers 8:53 shine across the top. “It’s 8:53,” you repeated, reading the numbers off of your home screen.

“It’s already that late,” he questioned more to himself than anyone else. “So 9:03, go ahead and set a timer, so we don’t lose track of time.” You did as he asked, ignoring the smile of your ex as you swiped out of that app and onto the clock app, putting in fifteen minutes into the timer and pressing start.

“So what are you doing here at the festival,” he asked, finally taking a good look at you for the first time since you ran into him outside.

“Um,” you started, looking for an answer you could give him. “I come here every year to celebrate my anniversary.”

“Oh, you’re married,” he asked, taking a second look at your hand, dreading that he might see a ring he missed at first glance.

You feel your cheek heat up at the thought of marriage, how nice that would be. “No, actually, I’m recently single,” you clarified for him, shifting uncomfortably in the awkward silence following.

After a minute or two, perhaps the longest in your life, you found it in you to look him in the eyes again, only to find his were already looking back at you. “It’s probably for the best. Everything happens for a reason, and all of that, right?”

“Right,” you chuckled in response. Of all the ways you looked at your breakup trying to put reason behind your ex’s sudden, I think we’d be better off apart, never had you once looked at it as it was just fate. Your relationship being simply not meant to be, but maybe that was the best way to see it.

“What about you, are you in a relationship,” you asked, not meaning to come off as desperate as you're sure you sounded.

“Unless you're asking about the intense love-hate relationship that I have with my textbooks, then no,” he said, laughing with you at his own joke. “Why do you ask?”

You felt your cheeks heat up once again at his sudden inquiry, and for what felt like the thousandth time today, you found yourself without an answer to his question. “Just curious,” were the two words you were miraculously able to get out without stuttering.

“You said you were majoring in health and welfare, right,” you asked, desperately trying to detour the conversation from the topic of relationship status.

“Yeah.”

“So you want to be a doctor,” you asked, tilting your head to the side just a bit so you could get a better view of his face.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, keeping in line with his usual jokey tone.

“Why is-”

“I think it’s my turn to ask a question or two,” he suggested, cutting you off with the most teasing voice.

“Are you in Uni,” he asked. Your face, while beautiful, was an unfamiliar one.

“Yeah, but I go to school in Tokyo,” you said, a little embarrassed at the fact that you drove so far just to reminisce a little.

“That’s pretty cool! The city life over there is pretty exciting, right,” he asked, sounding almost awestruck.

“Yeah! I don’t go out much, but when I do, I always have a lot of fun,” you gushed, unable to keep the smile off your face as the memories came rushing back to you.

“Maybe I’ll have to come up there and take you out sometime,” he laughed, playing it off as a joke, but you didn’t miss the wink that he sent your way.

“I think I would really enjoy that,” you smiled, watching as a soft pink tinted his cheeks at your sudden bluntness.

“I-”

Just as he was about to say something in return, the timer you had set went off, the sound of the phone’s default ringtone blaring throughout the room.

“Alrighty,” he groaned, taking the ice off of your ankle and rolling over to the bedside table one last time. He put down the ice and picked up the bandages before rolling over the foot of your cot once again. You winced at the feeling of pain when he reached for your ankle. You could see it in his face that he was hurting for you as he wrapped up your foot. You're sure he said something doctorly about how compression was supposed to help with the swelling but you were too focused between the delicate work of his hands and the look on his face as he concentrated to pay attention.

It wasn’t until the feeling of your pump being placed back on your foot did you finally realize that he was finished. You set yourself down on two feet, listening to his advice about not putting too much pressure on your right foot. But even without walking on it, your right foot still hurt like a bitch.

“I can help you out,” he offered, already sweeping you off your feet before you had a chance to politely decline, sure that he had better things to do than helping you for any longer.

You couldn’t stop the soft giggle that left you as relaxed in his arms, feeling like you were right at home. Like this is where you were supposed to be there. Like he was made for you and you, him.

“It’s really pretty out here in the moonlight, huh,” you questioned rhetorically, the lights that shone in the streets reflecting in your eyes just like stars twinkled in the night sky.

“Yeah, it really is,” he agreed, but his eyes weren’t on the scenery. They were focused on you. Taking in your face all over again in fear that he might forget just how beautiful you were in the time between now and whenever the next time you see him is, that is, if he ever sees you again.

As he carried you bridal style through the festivities that was the fall festival and through the parking lot to your car, silence overcame the two of you, but unlike before, this silence was comfortable, nothing but the murmurs of people indulging in conversations and the crunch of leaves under your savior’s feet every now and then. No words were needed; if anything, they would probably ruin this moment between you and him. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this at home with someone, but you certainly wouldn’t say that you minded the feeling. Despite his cold hands on your skin, your heart was overflowing with warmth, and it was all because of him.

“Which is yours,” he asked, nodding his head towards the cars. When you pointed out yours, he took his last couple of steps with you in his arms before carefully setting you down in front of your car. You weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. You wanted a little more time with him.

“Oh my god, I never got your name,” you confessed, mentally kicking yourself for forgetting something so important.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m Natsuo, Natsuo Todoroki.”

“Well, Natsuo, Natsuo Todoroki,” you began, playfully mocking his cliche answer to your previous question, “would you mind giving me your number,” you asked, offering him your phone.

“Of course not,” in return for your he handed you his phone already opened to the contact app, and ready for you to input your information.

“I don’t give that out to just anyone, so make sure you put it to good use,” he winked, taking his phone from you and turning around to walk back to his booth, but not without stealing one last glance from you as you climbed inside your car.

As you suffered the pain that was driving with a sprained ankle, there was only one thing running through your mind that distracted you from it all; Natsuo Todoroki was starting to look like a person you could make new memories with.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #writing?

85 notes · View notes

cupofteaguk · 5 years ago

Text

what you want

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: post breakup au | fluff

warnings: depictions of alcohol consumption

word count: 5k

a/n: taken from “things you said while we were driving” on my old blog

In a way, Jungkook knows you’re on the other side of the line even before he answers the phone. One could argue that it’s because he remembers your strange and cute and endearing habit of always calling him at ungodly hours of the evening for absolutely no reason at all, or how its been a few months since things ended between the two of you and he still jumps at the notification of text messages and still catches glimpses of you on the street.

While all those things are true, he probably knows it’s you because he has yet to change the ringtone on his phone that corresponds to your calls. That way, his action of leaping off the couch and making a dive for his phone is slightly more justified as he slides the answer button and presses the device to his ear. “Hello?” He exclaims breathlessly, cursing himself out just a moment later because he didn’t even think to cover up the eager quality in his tone and probably sounds like he had been waiting around for your call—which he has but you didn’t need to know that.

“Hey! Jungkook!” You exclaim from the other end, a concerning amount of time between his question and your response that he can already feel his eyes narrowing and can already feel a little voice in the back of his head telling him that it doesn’t matter how he reacts to your call.

You’re likely way too drunk at this point to notice.

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, bringing a finger up to tap at the crease as not just a means to calm himself but also a means to give himself a better handle on the situation. You were never the heavy drinker, especially when the pair of you were dating, so he doesn’t have any sort of default speech or words of caution to throw at you during this kind of specific predicament. From that, the only thing he can properly manage to say back to you is: “Are you drunk?”

A pause. “No of course not!” You shout back over the line and Jungkook sighs because the pieces are just beginning to connect in his mind. You only ever shouted when you were drunk, when your mind and vocal chords couldn’t process the depth or volume of your tone. “Why would I do that?!”

“Y/N, you’re shouting,” He points out, looking down and despite everything, despite the fact that he should really be pissed at you for disrupting his evening, despite the fact that your wellbeing shouldn’t be a priority in his life anymore—he can’t help but allow the corner of his lips to quirk up in the smallest smile. A smile of relief that you’re here and well and talking, a smile of relief that stops the flood of questions from escaping his lips.

Another pause, and he imagines you tilting your head to the side, imagines the drunk gears turning like a wheel over and over again in your mind as you comprehend his words and attempt to adjust your own lifestyle accordingly. “I am?” You return, but your voice has lowered significantly from grand yelling to soft whispering.

Jungkook can’t help it. A noise of laughter escapes from the back of his throat. “You’re insane,” He speaks without an ounce of remorse in his tone as he straightens up and off the floor, continuing to unconsciously cradle the phone against his ear, pressing it closer as if pulled by a desire to hear every curve of your voice. “Though I didn’t know you were the type to drunk dial…”

“M’not drunk dialing,” You point out, your voice still retaining that hushed quality but there’s something different about it, something sensual and vulnerable and it only captures Jungkook’s attention more. “Jungkook, I need you.”

The statement forces Jungkook into an immediate frenzy as he allows himself one second of completely disregard for the situation, for the fact that you were drunk and likely just spewing nonsense, the fact that the pair of you weren’t dating anymore, the fact that it has been months since your last conversation—all thoughts seems to fling itself out of the window. This leaves Jungkook alone in the living room, choking on his words. He swallows thickly because drunk words were sober thoughts, were they not? “Y-You need me,” He repeats back slowly.

You whine at that, a vulnerable noise Jungkook hasn’t heard in so long that it makes his heart tighten slightly in his chest. It’s not a reaction that comes out of need or physical desire, but more so as a deep unconditional sort of longing. He misses you, misses you definitely a lot more than he should be missing an ex-partner but he can’t help it.

“I need you for a ride,” You reply back, the addition of those last three words to that sentence doing little to diminish Jungkook’s attention on your voice. It doesn’t matter that you seem to have only called him for your own personal reason. “Karly dragged’m to this party and I don’t trust anyone else to pick me up.”

“So you need me… to pick you up from a party?” Jungkook echoes, gradually lowering himself onto the couch. He doesn’t know the protocol of open lines of communication between someone who use to (and still does, but people didn’t need to know that) mean the world to him. He doesn’t know if he should be more watchful, more careful, more aware of its hidden implications or if he should take situations like these with a grain of salt.

His genuine cluelessness about relationship norms has come to bite him back in the ass, yet he’s not too sure if it’s a bad thing or a good thing.

However, his restating of your request seems to click something in your mind because you let out a groan. “Oh god,” You say, letting out a big sigh. “I can’t ask you to pick me up.” It’s hard to tell if you’re talking to Jungkook or convincing yourself otherwise.

So Jungkook just leans against the couch, continuing to press the phone against his ear, closing his eyes just enough to the sound of you breathing lightly on the other side because holy shit it feels like lifetimes. “Well, why not?” He asks, lowering his gaze to stare down at his leg, the texture of his jeans. His finger comes out to trace at the denim mindlessly, desperate to keep you on the phone partially because he’s long since forgotten the lapsed sound of your breathing but also because that part of himself that’s always been protective over you longs to ensure your safety.

“You must be busy, right?” You grumble, voice slightly muffled and he imagines you leaning heavily against a wall to maintain your balance. “I don’t want to bother you… I just need to figure out how to get home.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” Jungkook reassures, pushing himself off the couch and already starting to rummage around for the important belongings such as his wallet and his keys. “Do you think you could drop a pin for me? I need to know where you are so I can come get you.”

You hum. “R-Really?” You manage. “You would do that?”

He swallows down the part of himself that almost admits he would do anything for you, not because he fears you retaining that statement but because he knows that speaking the words out loud would mean facing the truth he’s spent months trying to bury away.

So he reaches over to lightly scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean…” He starts, biting his lip, trying to find the right words that don’t give away too much of his feelings yet can still convey his desire to look after you. “I still care about you.”

He closes his eyes after the words escape, a wave of curses and frenzy and something akin to smashed keyboard lettering piling up in his mind. Fuck, fuck, that was definitely not what he was trying to go for.

Yet on the other side of the phone, you laugh softly and quietly and it sounds more tired than anything else which only gives Jungkook a greater incentive to go out and find you. “You’re too good for me Jungkook. I don’t know how I can return the favor.”

He feels himself practically melting at your words, at your ability to say the right thing without even having to try and it makes him wonder. His mind wanders to where it all went wrong, what happened between the two of you, why he’s here on the other side of the phone line in an apartment that feels much too empty and lonely rather than at that party with you and hearing your voice directly in his ear and not through some hazy reception. Or even better, just spending the time alone within each other’s company—playing video games or watching movies or cooking meals or just anything in general that involved being within each other’s company. Those things, once so common and mundane to the average day-by-day playback of his life, have quickly become his favorite things to reflect upon in his spare time. At least, until the realization of his lingering feelings for you and the fact that a breakup didn’t equate to breaking apart the remnants of his emotional connection.

He simply smiles. “Text me where you are. At least drop a pin.”

“Okay,” You manage and he can practically hear you nodding your head furiously to showcase the depth of how hard you were going to work to ensure that would happen. “I will. I really will.”

The pair of you hang up shortly after, and Jungkook finds himself letting out a breath. He hadn’t realized how nervous he would be at getting to converse with you after so many long months of silence; just a proof of testament to how you still had the full capability of continuously inching yourself underneath his skin.

His phone buzzes, capturing his attention as he reaches the device to his line of sight and sees the text message from you.

from you: [PINNED LOCATION]

from you: did tiowork

from you: jgnkook plaes tell me oyou got htaht

from Jungkook: I got it, just stay where you are okay?

from you: holy sih t did i use tehncaoloy coreectly im ga fucking genius

from you: jungkok guhryy up im tured i mgith

from you: fall sasleep

from Jungkook: DON’T

from you: jungkook ure too godoo for me

from you: what did ideo to derserve you

He pockets his phone after that, because although your messages are more than enough to send him into another burst of uncontrollable emotions, he knows immediately that his absolute first priority is to get to the party before you dropped your guard even more. He can’t even begin to imagine what would happen—his thoughts getting the best of him given that Jungkook doesn’t trust a little more than half of the overall human population and those fragments of alternative realities is what forces his feet to slam on the gas pedal and his eyes to frantically scan back and forth on the street to ensure that he would most definitely not miss the house.

He doesn’t. He gets the house right, and luckily doesn’t need to be double checking his work because not only are there long rows of cars parked along the sidewalk, but also a handful of people are littered outside along the porch. Given the quiet neighbor, their hushed voices make sense, but they’re all holding bottles and cups that leaves little to the imagination. Jungkook parks, steps out of his car, shuffles towards the house and his approaching figure is barely spared a glance as he makes his way up the steps and into the house.

Inside, the conversations are a little louder, a little more rowdy—the laughter is freer, a mixture of different voices are heard ringing down the hallway and the rooms that individuals have gathered in. But none of those things matter to Jungkook. He doesn’t care about the prospect of drinking with strangers, the typically alluring temptation of free alcohol. The only thing he cares about it—!

“Jungkook?” A voice sounds from one of the couches in the empty living room, the familiarity of the tone forcing him to stop completely in his tracks as he whirls around towards the source of the noise. His heart does that painful stuttering thing it always does when he sees you and he can practically feel the desperation and overwhelming swell of emotions erupting throughout his body—like that time you stepped out his bathroom for the first time in his clothes or the first time he woke up next you and saw the golden rays of morning light hitting all the curves and angles of your face. Or one instance post-coitus tangled with one another atop the mattress, deep breath matched into the evening, his fingers and eyes developing an intense fixation on your lips; that was the moment he realized he was in love with you.

And now those emotions seem to be hitting him like a wave the longer he stands there staring at you, taking you in because even though you are curled up on the couch half asleep, you’ve never looked more beautiful and months apart definitely does not change that.

“H-Hey,” Jungkook manages, taking the few steps towards you, quickening his pace slightly when he notices you struggling to sit yourself up on the couch. “Wait, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” He instructs lightly, kneeling before you yet you still attempt to pull yourself up. You are somehow able to get your arm underneath yourself, using your strength to push your body. Your head almost falls to the side but Jungkook starts forward to hold the side.

Your eyes slowly find his, flickering upwards until they land upon his face and the corner of your lips quirk up in a tired yet gorgeous smile. “Hi Jungkook,” You whisper, your voice that low huskiness that always takes form when you’ve drank too much and yelled too much. He remembers bits and pieces of your drunken facade and knows this particular one to be your tired and exhausted shell. “It’s been awhile.”

You sound significantly less drunk than you had been over the phone, which he takes to be a good sign and that you’ve spent the few minutes it has taken Jungkook to drive from his house to this to sober up and start the process of trying to make yourself as well as you possibly could be in this state.

“I know,” He returns back.

You laugh, a mere exhale through your nose, eyes drifting close for a second before they open again. “This is’not how I wanted you to see me after all this time.”

He smiles softly. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you through worse.�� And it’s true. He definitely has. “C’mon, my car is right outside.”

For a second, Jungkook is not entirely sure what to do with his hands. Under normal circumstances he would have no doubts about gathering you in his arms and leading you to his car himself, but these are not normal circumstances so he just settles with bringing a hand down to the curve of your waist.

“Can you stand up for me?”

Keeping both hands on his shoulders, it helps propel you upwards and although you aren’t completely uncoordinated, you still cling to him and Jungkook allows you to lean on him heavily as he holds you close in order to guide you out of the house and down the lawn.

You hum quietly under your breath, eyes fixated downwards to watch your footing. “Do you remember…” You start slowly, the exhaustion from the alcohol starts to eat away at your system. “Do you remember my house… like, where it is?”

“Yeah, yeah I remember where it is,” He answers, slowly open the passenger door and leaning over to help you sit down. You practically slump against on the seat, providing the further fluidity of your bones and muscles, still doing enough in dragging out the sheepish laugh from Jungkook. As if by instinct, he reaches over to tug the seat belt over your frame, crossing over your body to lock the buckle in place. This forces himself closer to you, forces him within such a close proximity to your frame that he can smell the lingering after effects of alcohol fill up his nose. But underneath that, he can still smell your perfume and the lavender scent of your shampoo. He clears his throat. “Uh, you good?”

You nod slowly, gaze unwavering from his face as he pulls away far enough to meet your eyes. You are unwavering, orbs flickering back and forth with a scary intensity that he momentarily questions the level of intoxication you are under. The only way he can know for sure is through the glassy complexion of your eyes.

“What?” He speaks, feeling too self-conscious to ignore the look across your features.

You inhale slowly. “You smell the same.” There is a sense of longing in your voice that Jungkook is almost sure is just the alcohol talking.

Almost.

He takes in a breath. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” He says, not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or you more. “Just try to get some rest, okay?” You look like you’re about to open your mouth to further explain your situation—because a tired you equates to a rambling you—but he pulls back and slams the car door shut without a word.

Not for long though, because he reappears on the driver’s side, sliding into place and sliding the key into the ignition to start the car up.

“Being drunk has nothing to do with how you smell the same,” You note quietly, shifting to stare longingly out of the window.

“Being drunk means everything,” He returns, making sure to keep his grip tight on the steering wheel keep himself focused on the road rather than you. “It means you’ll say something you’ll probably regret in the morning.”

“I highly doubt that,” You say, but he doesn’t believe you. Even when you readjust yourself once more to stare at his side profile. “Jungkook, I missed you,” You start. “So, so, so much.”

Despite his increasing heart rate, he manages a weak laugh. “You’re just saying that because I’m picking you up from a party.”

“No, no, no,” You protest, shaking your head. “Not true. I mean it. I missed you so much.”

That statement forces his mind into a complete 180 rotation as Jungkook is so startled at your confession that his foot accidentally slams down on the gas, forcing the pair of you to dart forward at such a speed that both heads slam against the back of the seats. Jungkook curses loudly, managing a right turn just before the overhead light turns red.

Jungkook’s breathing picks up as he tightens his grip on on the wheel. “Fucking hell—Y/N don’t say things like that!”

“Why not?” You protest, leaning back against the headrest of the seat. Your eyes slide shut and stay closed for a few seconds. “It’s true…” You let out a gentle sigh from between your lips, grumbling something that he can’t make out and Jungkook decides to take advantage of your incoherent nature to just fix the rest of his attention back on the road. Seriously, if you could keep your mouth shut for the next five minutes, he could actually maintain some semblance of his sanity to prevent any further potential accidents.

Luckily, aside from the occasional hum that leaves your lips, you are quiet which allows Jungkook to carefully navigate the streets before finally pulling up to the curbside in front of your apartment complex. The sight definitely brings back memories, but he swallows them down long enough to take himself out of the driver side and make his way back around to your side of the vehicle.

You’re still hunched against the seat when Jungkook opens the door, eyes closed and lips parted and bombarding him with memories of good times, better times, that he almost doesn’t reach him to shake you awake.

Key word: almost.

He leans in to gently grip your shoulder. “Y/N, we’re here.”

You open your eyes just as he’s reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Jungkook doesn’t get far because just as he’s about to pull back, your hands dart out to grasp at the hem of his jacket. Despite your sleepy facade, your grip is surprisingly strong and it keeps Jungkook within a close distance to your face.

He swallows down his heart threatening to crawl its way out of his throat.

“I’m not… fucking around Jungkook,” You insist. “The months when you’re not with me suck. They really fucking suck and…” You aren’t drunk but you definitely still are battling with the remnants of alcohol clouding your mind and judgment and Jungkook wants you to stop, wants you to put a halt to something you will surely regret in the morning, but he also knows that you would chew him out for continuously trying to interrupt you. Even if it’s for your own personal benefit. You’re funny and stubborn and adorable and endearing in this sense.

Back to reality. He blinks, biting his lip, hoping you cannot hear his rapidly increasing pulse drumming underneath the skin. Rather than put a stop to it, he can’t help himself this time around. He encourages your drunken mind. “What are you trying to say?”

Your gaze dances across his face, eyes still glazed and shimmering underneath the light of the car and the lights from the building behind the pair of you.

Then, without a warning, you lean forward and dust your lips against his.

For a moment, everything seems to leave Jungkook. Everything: from his sanity to his state of mind to the ground behind his feet to his sense of balance and belonging, leaving him alone with his raw and infinite love for you and a desire for more more more. He barely processes the way your hands move up from the hem of his shirt to the collar until you’re luring him in again for another kiss, one a little bit more firm and a little bit more intoxicating.

Jungkook practically whimpers at the kiss, a little noise of desire escaping from the back of his throat, because holy fucking shit, it may just be because he hasn’t kissed anyone over the past few months or maybe just because he hasn’t kissed you that’s making him feel this way, making him realize just how much he really fucking misses you and how perhaps breaking up wasn’t the best idea. For a split second, he longs to forget that you’re drunk, that you’re definitely not in your right state of mind, that you broke up for a valid (unfortunate) reason, that this is wrong. So very absolutely wrong.

Although it hurts every bone in his body, Jungkook has to force himself to turn away and pull back from you. “W-Wait,” He manages, processing the fact that his voice is low from the events that have just happened. His cheeks feel warm and he feels lightheaded, but he forces himself to stay focused on what is the right thing to do and definitely not trying to notice the way you look: from the flushed cheeks to the darkened lips to the distracted eyes. “We shouldn’t do this. It’s not right.”

The light once flickering so hopefully in your gaze dies down at his firm words, as you cast your head downwards in a mixture of utter shame and embarrassment. He can hear the gears turning frantically in your mind, can feel the way your hands pull away from his frame to settle tightly on your lap, can see the way you press your lips together as if you’re trying to keep yourself from saying anything further.

But his eyes widen as you inhale sharply before a heart-wrenching sob tears itself from your throat. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth, but it does little to stop the hiccups and Jungkook can only watch helplessly as you crumble apart right before his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You admit quietly, such a soft whisper that he almost doesn’t hear you but he does and you are so broken that Jungkook’s own heart cannot be protected as he kneels down with eyes like a deer caught in the headlights. Questions swarm around his mind, desperately trying to figure out what to say because he should have known this would happen. He should have remembered that at the end of the day, after the laughter and the exhaustion have taken their phase in your identity like passage of the moon—it all ends with this. It all ends with the emotional part of you, when the alcohol gets to your head and leaves nothing but a sobbing mess behind over anything and everything. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” You start to ramble, each word broken up by a sharp inhale for air like your tears are drowning you. “I’m so sorry Jungkook, I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry…”

“Hey,” Jungkook starts. “Hey, stop apologizing. Why are you apologizing? Why are you crying?”

The questions do little but prompt further crying as another strangled sob escapes your throat and you turn your head with a refusal to even look in his general direction. Your jaw is clenched together, your hand is still at your mouth as if attempting to muffle your whimpers to little success.

“B-Because,” You stammer, your whole body shaking with the effort to contain the wave of your sufferings. Jungkook’s heart stutters painfully in his chest, sinking down to his stomach, as the words of how this was all his fault ring like a bell in his mind. “Because you probably hate me. You hate me, d-don’t you?”

He scoots a little closer. “No, no, of course I don’t. Y/N, where did you get that idea?”

You shake your head, eyes slamming shut. “H-How could you not hate me? I just kissed you and we’re not even together anymore, we haven’t been together for months and it just hurts so so much because I’m stupid, I’m so stupid…”

“Y/N, take a breath, you have to calm down,” Jungkook speaks gently, bravely reaching over to rest his hand on your knee, attempting to draw soothing patterns over the denim and hoping more than anything that you can feel the warmth and reassurance of his touch against your skin. “You aren’t making any sense. Why would you call yourself stupid?”

You pull your hand away from your mouth and you glare at him through your tears. Your face is bright red and wet with tears, but still so beautiful it really hurts. “Because I’m still in love with you,” You speak, swallowing down your uneven breathes and forcing yourself to make the statement as clearly as possible. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I’ve been trying to get over you this entire time to no luck. A-And I thought going to that dumb party would help me, but I-I guess not because I’m here being an asshole and trying to kiss you even though you hate me…” Your face crumbles and you look like you’re on the verge of tears all over again.

“Y/N,” Jungkook speaks up, leaning forward. “Y/N, please, stop beating yourself up for this. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you—you were the most important person in my life. I mean… you still are.”

You sniff, reaching up to wipe at your nose. “What are you trying to say?”

“I miss you too,” He replies quietly, gazing down for a moment to study the rest of your body. “I miss you so much all the time it hurts. If I had to give up a penny for every time I wanted to call you or text you… well, I’d probably be broke.”

You blink away the layer of tears clouding your vision. “D-Do you mean that?”

“I would never lie to you,” He admits, looking down and gently reaching over to grasp your hand. He runs his thumb over your skin, momentarily basking in the skin-on-skin contact with you.

Your body jolts with the occasional hiccup as you quietly try to let the previous wave of sobbing pass over you. “I’m sorry,” You whisper again. “I probably made a mess of your evening.”

He shakes his head before he even realizes what he’s doing. “No, it’s okay, I’m just glad to see you home safely.”

You look down at your joined hands. “S-Since you miss me, and I miss you,” You start, biting on your lip. “Can we start over?”

He gazes up at you. Every nerve in his body screams YES, because goddamn, it has been too long and he’s sure that if the universe was willing to give the pair of you another chance, you both would do anything and everything to make it work and not fall into those same traps that broke you apart last time. He has wanted a lot of things, but never has badly as this and he wants to hold you tightly and crush you to his chest and inhale your lavender—and yet.

The sinking sensation seems to hit him in that moment that you’re still drunk and under the influence and thus, not in your right state of mind. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He doesn’t think he can handle that.

He lets out a sigh. “If you remember this tomorrow,” He says. “Then we can.”

You start fading again as he takes you out of his car and helps you up the stairs to the correct floor of your apartment, helps your roommate in guiding you into your bedroom, and leaves with a prompt ‘just… take care of her, please…’ with such a sad edge to his voice that Karly gives him a sympathetic pat on the back and a request to drive home safely.

He does, but there is a longing in his chest, a doubt, a warning not to expect too much from this situation.

He loves you too much for the disappointment.

The next morning, he wakes up to surprisingly sunny skies, golden rays, and a text.

from you [7,18am]: Since you miss me and I miss you, can we start over?

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get use to your unpredictability, your determination—and for the first time in months, his smile is brighter than the outside.

#bangtan bookclub #bts writing cafe #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts x reader #traci writes

907 notes · View notes

fantasticworksandwheretofindthem · 7 years ago

Text

New Rules - “One”

Summary: In which [Name] finds out from her best friend that Tom is famous.

Warnings: angst, swearing (mainly from Tom), drinking heavily, drunk Tom

Notes: I’m currently obsessed with “New Rules” by Dua Lipa, so that’s where the inspiration for this came from. (There will be three parts to this.)

[ two ] | [ three ]

“Hey, I have a surprise for you,” Harrison told Alaysia, leading her into the living room. “But first, you have to pick out a movie.” He gestured to the movie cabinet, and she plopped down in front of it, opening up the left side door.

Alaysia scanned the movies, a little unimpressed with his lack of Disney until her eyes rested upon the new Spider-Man movie. “You have Spider-Man: Homecoming!” she exclaimed, pulling it from the stack.

“Yeah,” Harrison said, a smile creeping onto his face. She looked so cute when she was excited. “You like Marvel?”

“I love Marvel!” It wasn’t until she had began reading the back of the case that Harrison suddenly realized that Tom hadn’t yet told [Name] the full extent of who he was and what he did for a living.

“Wait, babe, I know a great --”

“Your best friend is Spider-Man!” Alaysia looked up at Harrison, all bug-eyed. He tried to deny it, asked what she was talking about, so she read aloud the description: “A young Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tom Holland), who made his sensational debut in Captain America: Civil War --” She stopped her reading to squeal. “How have you kept this from me?” She bounced up from her spot, the case still in hand. Suddenly, she gasped. “How has [Name] not told me?”

Harrison cringed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “She doesn’t know,” he admitted quietly. Before he could ask her not to say anything, she was pulling her phone out and dialing [Name]’s number.

You stepped out of the bathroom, your speaker blasting “Something That We’re Not” by Demi Lovato. The song was suddenly replaced by Cher Lloyd’s “Oath”, your best friend’s ringtone. You turned the speaker off and answered the phone, putting it to your ear and setting the speaker next to your lamp on your bedside table.

Before you could even get out a ‘hello’, Alaysia screamed, “Tom plays Peter Parker in the new Spider-Man!”

As if on cue, a knock on your door was heard, followed by the door opening and closing. You knew Tom said some sort of greeting, but you weren’t sure as to which exact word it was because you were too focused on your best friend’s explanation.

“I’ll call you back, ‘Laya,” you said quietly and hung up the phone. You heard Tom call for you and ask where you were.

When he saw you emerge from your room, his smile widened, and his eyes sparkled. He moved to wrap his arms around you in a hug, but you pushed him away. “What’s wrong, Cinderella?”

You felt a pang in your heart as he called you the endearing term. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” He cocked his head to the side, genuine confusion written across his face. What he didn’t know was that his phone, stowed away in his pocket, was silently displaying two missed calls from Harrison, who was trying to warn him.

“That you’re..” You cleared your throat, having to look away from his adorable, puppy-like face. “That you’re Spider-Man.”

Tom seemed to be at a loss for words. More than once, he would open his mouth, but just as quickly, he would close it once more. Finally, he said, “I didn’t.. I’ve already messed up once, and you finally forgave me for that. I didn’t want to risk ruining us again.”

“But that’s such a big part of your life, Tom!” you exclaimed, turning to face him again. He looked sincerely sorry that he hadn’t told you sooner. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I didn’t want you to..” Tom trailed off, letting his words hang unfinished in the air, almost as if he knew better than to say what he originally thought.

“You didn’t want me to what?” There was a minute of silence from both of you and confusion on your part. Suddenly, it was as if every cliche about a celebrity and a normal person dating you’d ever read came swimming to the surface and took center stage. “You didn’t trust me enough to not judge you, did you? Or that I would take advantage of your fame. Is that what you thought?”

Tom said nothing. He made no attempt to defend himself. He shoulders sagged and his head drooped. If guilty were a person, it would be Tom now.

“Unbelievable,” you whispered. Even if Tom didn’t have a clear view of the tears in your eyes, he would definitely be able to hear them in your voice. “I thought you knew me better than that.” You shook your head and turned around, walking back to your room and slamming your door. You walked over to your window, refusing to let yourself shed a single tear until you saw his car pull away.

After he was gone, you curled up on your bed, wondering why you hadn’t realized it sooner. Tom being famous explained so many things: why he’d been so offended about your love for DC rather than Marvel; why his name sounded familiar when he’d called you that night at the bar; the look of recognition on Trysdale’s face when he met Tom at Marvel Movie Night; why he’d said he was used to girls throwing themselves at him; how he’d been able to offer you and Trysdale a trip to Six Flags, then Disneyland, then Disneyland in Paris; and why those girls at the Ed Sheeran concert had asked for his autograph, but he’d brushed it off as them mistaking him for someone else.

Before you knew it, the sun had set and your pillow was soaked with your tears. Your phone buzzed, and you saw that Tom had blown up your phone, apologizing and trying to get you to talk to him. You had a notification from every social media: iMessage, Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and even Facebook. You sighed and opened them, only to get rid of the notifications. When you hit the back button on Instagram, it took you back to your profile. You stared at the date with the lock and key and heart emojis. Your heart breaking even more, you hit ‘Edit Profile’ and, with a heavy heart, deleted the date.

Where was the sense in having a date with a heart emoji next to it on your profile when you were single?

Harrison had been scrolling through Instagram when he saw [Name]’s post of a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and sad, sappy movies spread out of her bed. Under the picture was the caption: Ice cream and sad movies - the perfect breakup remedy.

He furrowed his eyebrows. Since when did she need a breakup remedy? Harrison knew that she hadn’t taken the news of Tom being famous too well because of Alaysia having to rush over to comfort her, but surely that hadn’t resulted in a breakup. Harrison went to her profile, and at first he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but then he realized that Tom’s and her anniversary date was no longer there. He took a screenshot of her profile and sent it to Tom.

Are you and [Name] going through a rough patch or something?

She found out about me being an actor, and she got upset. Can’t really blame her though.

Have you seen her Instagram?

No, I just got back from the gym, why?

Take a look at the screenshot

Okay, what about it?

Look closer, there’s something missing

Oh, shit.. I really messed up, didn’t I?

Looks like it

Shit

One: Don’t pick up the phone, you know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone.

Ever since you and Tom had broken up, he’d been using a lot of his free time away from set to call you to try and apologize. Most times you would pick up and foolishly listen to his apologies until Alaysia would literally take the phone from your hand, say some form of “Goodbye, Tom”, and hang up. She would remind you of the rules she’d told you time and time again, saying that if you ever wanted to get over him, you would have to follow them. He’d only called you in a drunken stupor once, but once was enough for your best friend to hold against him forever.

It had been a night Harrison had taken him to a moderately popular night club. They’d been rehearsing all day for the upcoming scene that they were shooting that Monday, but Tom had been so hung up on you that he was giving a less-than-half-assed performance. Harrison figured the best way to cheer him up, or at least get him out of such a funk, would be to take him to a bar so he’d forget about you for at least a couple hours.

The plan hadn’t gone so swell because Tom seemed to have no self-control that night. It got to the point where Harrison had to drag Tom out of the building so Tom could get some fresh air and Harrison could call an Uber.

“Tom, what are you doing?” Harrison exasperated after he’d gotten off the phone.

“I’m callin’ [Name],” he slurred. “I haf’ta ‘pologize and tell ‘er I miss ‘er.”

“That’s not a good idea, and you know it,” Harrison advised, but Tom didn’t listen, which wasn’t much of an abnormality when it came to [Name] now.

You had been washing the dishes when your phone started ringing. Instead of the Spider-Man theme that had once been set for Tom, your phone played the default tone. You’d taken the customized ring off when Alaysia got better at ‘answering’ the phone than you did. You leaned over to see who was calling, and you weren’t surprised to see the name Heartbreaker flash the screen. Quickly drying your hands, you answered the phone. “Tom, you’ve got to stop calling me.”

“[Name], I miss you.”

With Tom’s slurring and the loud remixed music playing in the background, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “Tom, you’re drunk.”

“And you’re gone.” He sounded like he was crying.

Here he was, breaking your heart again. You wanted to tell him that you forgive him, that everything would be okay. Instead, you hung up the phone and resumed washing the dishes as you cried.

The more Tom called, the more you drilled the first rule into your head. Finally, you didn’t need Alaysia to hang up or decline the calls. You blocked his number once and unfollowed him on all social medias once and for all.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #reader insert #tom holland imagine #angst #spiderman: homecoming #sm: hoco #sm: hc #song fic #dua lipa #new rules

63 notes · View notes